He settled back in his seat in sudden relaxation, his blue eyes turning icy. It was this voice and all voices like it that he could help still by his meeting tonight. The opportunity he had feared, he now welcomed. He nodded stiffly to Mathais as if in praise for the neatness displayed in eliminating their pursuer, and then turned his face once again to the window to avoid the other’s smirk.
They were in a part of the city he did not know. In the fog it was difficult to recognize landmarks, but the street along which they drove, and the facades of the buildings which they passed, did not look familiar. This was a section he had not previously visited. Before them a wall suddenly loomed, topped by a string of lights glistening through the fog. They turned to the right without slowing, and continued driving.
“Yacht Club,” Mathais said briefly, and also turned his attention to the thickening night outside. The Yacht Club faded into the darkness behind them, the car began to slow down. Another curve and a second cluster of lights began to approach. This I should know, Ari thought. It is not so far from the drive; I should be able to orient myself. He shrugged in indifference; it was really quite unimportant.
The Packard eased to the hidden curb; Mathais got down heavily and helped Ari to get out. The fog here was thicker, a pocket that had swirled down into the depression formed by two huge rocky towers. Certainly I should know this place, Ari mused with a touch of irritation. Have I lost my sense of direction altogether? He shrugged again as they walked toward the light cluster; the driver and his silent companion bracketed the two as they went. The sound of the second car pulling up could be heard; a car door slammed and the other feet walked hurriedly up behind them. They arrived at the source of the lights in a tight group. Ari stared in amazement.
Before him was a boxlike car, resembling a short street trolley, but hung from a set of oily wheels mounted clumsily above. He swung his eyes up; the heavy cables passed in a sagging dip over his head and faded in a rising curve into the wall of fog. He turned to Mathais, who was smiling, unable to hide his pride in his arrangements.
“Yes,” Mathais said. “Pão de Açúcar — Sugar Loaf. Our leader will meet you on top of Sugar Loaf.” He was almost grinning in his self-satisfaction at his own cleverness. “It is the perfect place, yes?”
But, Ari almost cried, it is foggy, we shall not be able to see the beautiful view! Even as the thought crossed his mind, he realized how unimportant to his mission it was; but the feeling of loss somehow persisted. What a shame to visit Pão de Açúcar on a night of such fog! What a waste!
He turned to Mathais, his face exhibiting the proper appreciation for the other’s brilliance. “Do we wait for him here?”
“No; he prefers to meet on the summit.” Mathais chuckled comfortably. “A summit meeting.” He took Ari’s arm, guiding him to the car. A little uniformed Brazilian sat inside, eyes downcast, waiting for them to enter. The silent men with them stood to one side until Mathais handed Ari in; then they followed. Mathais stepped back. “I’ll see you on top in a few minutes,” he said, and added almost jovially, “Boa viagem. Good trip.”
They started at once with a jerk, swaying fearfully. Ari grabbed for the supporting rod above his head, and then lowered himself gingerly onto a seat. The silent Storm Troop types about him seated themselves on either side; no word was spoken. Ari turned, looking down over his shoulder through the open window; the glow of the lights on the ground was slowly fading. Their car seemed to be suspended in a yellowish liquid, washing in it, rocking gently from side to side. His eyes automatically turned back to study the interior of the little wooden car; it seemed to be terribly fragile, scarcely built to ride to such heights. Ahead of them the cables swept silently out of the fog and then disappeared once again behind. The little blue-jacketed conductor sat with his eyes fixed blankly upon the floor. A sudden rift in the fog bank gave a momentary glimpse of the city, a flashing view of tiny streets and foreshortened apartment buildings dropping steeply away, but before Ari could fix it in his sight, the curtain of mist swept between them and they were once again back in their silent medium, swaying ever higher.
The faces about him were expressionless. What would you say if you knew you were taking a Jew up to meet your leader? he said to them silently, bitterly. What would you do? Would your cowlike faces at least assume some expression, even if it were only of anger? Would you look shocked, surprised? Amused? You would look the same, he thought with cold disgust; you are automatons, robots, and you would look the same. You have looked the same for a thousand years; you would not change now. Up and up they went; time seemed to stand still for their silent ascent into the mysterious emptiness of the blind sky. The hum of the huge wheels rolling quietly on the cables washed them all in weariness; the figures of his bodyguards, slumped in the wooden seats along the wall of the swaying car, seemed steeped in hypnosis, watching him as if drugged. The yellow fog beyond the glistening window swirled about sluggishly, casting back the weak light from the climbing car in spectral lights and shadows.
The ride seemed endless. As they rose the fog became cooler; the drop in temperature was quite apparent. Ari welcomed the sudden cold, laying his head against the wooden window frame, enjoying the dampness on his cheek. And then a sudden squealing of the cables jerked his head up; they were decelerating. The swaying became less pronounced, the invisible pull upward was being reduced. There was a sharp scraping sound as they dragged against something, coming to rest with one final tug. They were on top; the door opened.
He stepped out into a world apart from any he had ever known. The fog was thinner here; above him the faint glow of the moon could be seen, forcing itself through the spreading webs of mist. The cloudlike blanket of fog flowed below on all sides, curling folds that boiled in the air only a few feet beneath his precarious perch. The movement of the car seemed to remain with him, as if the mountain itself were shifting slightly; he took a few steps and the earth miraculously firmed. The four men who had ridden with him formed a file that led him to a flight of steps set in one corner of this aerie.
“On the platform,” one said harshly. “He will meet you alone on the platform above.” Ari stared at them blankly; a thumb jerked abruptly upward, and with a nod he began to climb.
The rounded railing was damp under his fingers, the concrete steps slippery beneath his feet; he seemed to be mounting into the heights of the sky itself. Below he heard the scraping sound and the thin whining of the cables as the little car hesitatingly took off on its descent to the earth so far below. Then the silence about him was complete.
The upper platform was lit only by the growing brilliance of the now triumphant moon, and by a red airplane-warning beacon mounted on a slim steel pole high above. He stepped into the red puddle of light that the beacon cast and watched his skin take on a bloody tinge. With a faint shudder he stepped away to the soft clean moonlight, leaning on the railing, turning his back on the cynical red eye, peering down into the ocean of fog that flowed beneath. From the distant hidden rocks far below, the tiny sounds of surf came up in weak crashes, fighting their way through the thick insulating layers of yellow mist; he tried to remember the foot of the cliff as he had seen it many times in brilliant sunlight, but the picture refused to form. He could only see the waves beating against the black rocks in endless darkness, tragically tearing at the giant, wearing upon it, trying to drag it down under the murky sea.